


Whumptober 2019 Challenge

by GarrisonWoes, We_used_to_knock (GarrisonWoes)



Series: 2019 Whumptober Challenge [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, Hurt Athos, Hurt Porthos, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-11-08 21:49:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 14,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20842547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarrisonWoes/pseuds/GarrisonWoes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarrisonWoes/pseuds/We_used_to_knock
Summary: 17. Stay With Me16. Pinned Down15. Scars14. Tear Stained13. Adrenaline





	1. Shaky Hands

**Author's Note:**

> So my BFF and I are participating in a self challenge for Whumptober. Follow the challenge and minimum 500 words. I'm adding another layer in that I want them to all connect into one larger story. So the first piece is rated general but don't expect them to all be that way. I'm a schmuck for D'artagan/Athos or Aramis/Porthos and maybe even a little D'artagan/Constance/Athos so you never know your luck with what you're going to get. Also for the most part D'artagan and Athos should be very very scared.

The sound of clashing steel rang through the undergrowth, Aramis glanced up, concerned for his brothers’ welfare. He knew, in good conscience, he’d been given an order he couldn’t help and perform his duty. Besides in carrying out that order he knew equally as well that they were possibly the best swordsmen in France, they could hold their own and even succeed in far more dire situations. He had a far more pressing matter at hand.

Porthos needed him.

As carefully as he could, Aramis dragged Porthos further from the melee before running towards their horses. The well-trained mounts had been startled but knew to stay close at hand. They had been walking their horses single file through a dense forest, taking a short cut to Rouen that they had all deemed necessary to their urgent mission, when a brigand, dagger in hand, had dropped from one of the trees onto Porthos back. A short struggle had ended with both men sliding from the horse, the dagger protruding from Porthos left arm and the awkwardness of the fall slamming his head into the tree trunk which meant they both landed heavily, Porthos out cold.

They had all leapt from their horses as men dropped from the trees. Athos had shouted for Aramis to see to Porthos as he and D’artagnan had jumped into the fray. So now, medical kit secured he made his way back to his large friend. Unfastening Porthos’ doublet, Aramis lifted his brother, he straddled Porthos’ thighs, leaning his friends torso against his own body as he struggled to remove the heavy leather from limp arms. 

Holding Porthos against him, his head lolling against his shoulder, Aramis bundled the doublet into a semblance of a cushion before gently laid him back to the ground ignoring the sounds of what he hoped were his brothers returning.

‘Is he….?’ D’Artagnan asked, his words trailing off as he got closer.

‘He’s unconscious.’ Aramis answered, not even bothering to look up. ‘Could you get a fire started?’

‘This is not a good place to stop.’ Athos cultured words grated on Aramis’ nerves.

‘Too bad.’ Aramis snapped before calming.

Athos stood, a long measured look fixed on Aramis before he moved, either to secure the horses or assist their youngest in his search for firewood, the medic didn’t care, he just needed to be left to his own tasks without the added scrutiny of his brothers.

‘’mis,’ Porthos voice disturbed his thoughts.

‘Mon ami!’ Aramis cupped the side of Porthos’ face with one hand, his thumb gently caressing his cheekbone and the bruise that was beginning to bloom. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Like I got blindsided by a tree.’ One large hand lifted to cover the medics on his chest. ‘What happened, why are you snapping at ‘thos?’

‘There were maybe six of them, I never stopped to count. First one landed on you. The others dispatched them quickly enough.’ Aramis shrugged.

Porthos struggled to get upright before Aramis helped him to sit, leaning against a tree, one arm laying in his lap the other reaching to clasp Aramis’ hand.

‘Then why are your hands shaking.’ 

Aramis snapped his hands back and tucked them into his armpits.

‘Talk to me ‘mis.’

‘It’s just been a while. Don’t get many sneak attacks at Douai.’

‘That can’t be. You were fine at the monastery; you’ve been fine since.’

‘You’ll laugh.’ He sighed, delaying his confession for as long as he could. ‘It was you.’ Aramis whispered busying himself with unrolling his medical kit.

‘I’m fine, or I will be when you stitch me up.’ Porthos reached out with his right hand and pulled Aramis against his chest and into a tight hug.

TBC


	2. Explosion

‘Do you think he’ll be okay?’

‘Aramis was with him, short of infection there is no reason why he won’t make a full recovery.’ Athos turned in his saddle to look at his companion. ‘Are you in possession of more knowledge than I?’

‘No. Not at all.’ D’Artagnan shook his head, ‘It’s just, Aramis seemed very…concerned.’ 

‘Porthos injury might not be all that was worrying him.’ Athos turned back toward their path, reluctant to divert his attention from their path after their last surprise.

Silence shrouded them, the equine footfalls on the hard dirt road the only sounds for several minutes.

‘What troubles you D’Artagnan?’ Athos almost sighed, he sensed the younger man was struggling with something he wanted to say.

‘Is Porthos sick?’ his voice was soft and flat, almost as if he was afraid to ask the question.

‘Why would you think that?’ Athos cast a long look around their area and again turned into his saddle to look at their youngest.

‘Aramis was so concerned. He was short with you. He wasn’t himself. It seemed that he was, perhaps, more worried than just a brotherhood would require.’

‘What are you implying?’

‘I imply nothing, I’m not sure what I am even asking. It just seemed…. odd.’ D’Artagnan shrugged his shoulders his gaze returning to the road ahead of them.

Athos reached over and grabbed D’Artagnan’s reins, effectively pulling him closer so he could watch his reactions closely, “You understand that the information you think you have is dangerous, don’t you?’

‘I don’t have any information.’ D’artagnan’s brow furrowed as he absorbed the words that Athos spoke. ‘what do you think I know.’

‘I don’t know anything. Better yet I don’t see anything. If my friends, any of my friends, have a loving consensual relationship I consider it none of my business. All I care about is that my friends are happy.’

‘What?’ D’Artagnan squeaked, ‘I can’t know anyone else’s happiness.’ He shook his head furiously.

‘That is what you were just asking me, was it not?’

‘No…maybe…I guess it was.’

‘If they are…more than brothers…It is none of our business. If we...If I see them being…intimate…I or, sorry we must confess that we know. If we confess what we know then they will both be hung. If we don’t confess what we know we will all be hung. All of us.’

D’Artagnan nodded his head grasping the words that his mentor spoke, ‘No matter what I think I know of any such actions, I know the words will never pass my lips, not even to you.’

Athos bowed his head for a moment, his hat shading his face briefly. When he lifted his head, his eyes were moist. ‘I thank you, D’Artagnan.’ He turned his body back to the front and geed his horse back into motion. D’Artagnan sat for a few moments, watching his mentor and mulling over the conversation they had just conducted. When he toed his horse into action he had to canter to catch up.

‘I need you to know something.’ He touched a gloved hand to Athos arm.

‘I do not need to be told about any intimacies that you think I should know of D’Artagnan. Please do not make it necessary for me to do things to my friends that I find abhorrent.’ Athos spoke without looking towards his friend.

‘No, no intimacies.’ D’Artagnan started to speak, ‘I merely wish to tell you that I would not personally have a problem with shall we say…acts of that nature.’

Athos was silent and they rode for several more metres before D’Artagnan spoke again.

‘There is not enough love in the world to deny it when it happens…in any form.’ He shrugged, more than a little embarrassed by his words and ducked his head, effectively hiding his face behind the shiny curtain of his hair.

‘That is a truly brave and accepting stance.’ Athos stated turning back to look at D’Artagnan successfully hiding his face. ‘I find myself wanting to ask why you are so accepting of their love. I want to ask if you would consider such a position, but I cannot in good conscience ask that of you.’

‘You do not have to ask me, know that I would answer you, truthfully, regardless, however, I would not put you in that position. So, I can say is that if love were to find me, I would not question where it came from.’

Athos pulled on his horse’s reins to stop him, ignoring the angry snort of his mount. ‘Until we return to the garrison, we will speak more of this. Now we must return our full concentration to our mission, you have already seen how dangerous a lack of attention can be. This conversation is not over, but I will not do this on the road where any unwanted souls can hear.’

D’Artagnan searched Athos’ face for some sign of what he might want to say, but as he so often did, his face was blank. They rode in silence until late afternoon. By their reckoning they would arrive at their destination early the next morning. It would not serve them or their mounts well by riding through the night. The weather was turning inclement and neither of them wished to ride either in the rain or through the night, so they decided to find an adequate campsite and hunker down for the evening.

About a kilometre off the road they found a small cave, the mouth was little more than a tunnel, but they could camp inside and stay dry. It wasn’t big enough for them to keep their horses out of the rain, but they could certainly keep themselves dry. They worked like the well-oiled machine they were to get settled before they lost what was left of the natural light. While collecting wood for a fire, D’Artagnan found a slight overhang that would shelter their horses. By the time he returned Athos had untacked them so D’Artagnan led them to their shelter for the night and tethered them then returned.

‘This looks cosy.’ He couldn’t help but snicker, seeing their saddles set on opposite sides of a small campfire, as he straightened up after crawling in.

‘I might furnish adequately but I can assure you that if you wish to eat something other than stale bread and cheese this evening you are in charge of our evening repast.’

‘Oh, believe me, I knew that already, you are not cooking after last time. Set a few snares on the way back from the horses.’ 

‘Then perhaps I could interest you in a little wine while we wait for dinner to find its way to our pan.’

D’Artagnan declined the offer and settled himself across the fire, his back comfortably resting against his saddle, happy to close his eyes and rest while he waited. 

The shadows lengthened, the wind increased, and occasional rain splashed into their hideaway, he decided to check the snares while he still had just enough light to find them. While he was skinning and cleaning the rabbit that he had found in his snare he was sure he heard voices and the horses became restless. He left dinner in the mouth of the cave and went to check on the horses.

‘What’s up boy?’ he murmured, rubbing his hands down his horse’s neck. ‘Storm got you spooked?’ He leaned into his horse’s neck one hand caressing and gentling the beast, his other hand on his main gauche as his keen eyes scanned the encroaching darkness. 

After long moments watching, he patted his horse and moved to check on Athos’ horse, making sure they were still firmly tethered. A clap of thunder rumbled, and he pulled his pistol from his belt and spun in alarm.

‘Damn storm has me spooked too.’ He muttered as he patted his horse’s rump as he walked away from them.

He’d gone about three paces before an explosion knocked him off his feet, a shower of rocks pelting him, the horses rearing and whinnying in fear.

TBC


	3. Delirium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when D'Artagnan is left as the only man standing on the mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay guys, also I had no idea how to drive A03 so I had to delete part II because I had posted incorrectly, but now its all sorted and everything is back again. Hope you enjoy.

Ringing in his ears was the thing that pulled D’Artagnan to consciousness. The second was a dull ache from his whole body. He lay in the rotting leaf litter trying to collect his thoughts in the stinging rain and wind that whipped his hair across his face as he turned to take stock of his situation. 

Their horses weren’t tethered anymore, the small lip that had given them some shelter was now scattered in pieces around him. D’Artagnan sat up carefully and took stock of himself, his long gloved fingers probing tender spots on his body, coming away bloody from the side of his face.

Nothing that had yet befallen him was going to kill him, he sat up, his hands rubbing his legs as he surveyed his surroundings. The horses hadn’t gone far, but they made sure they removed themselves from danger, both standing some distance away, behind a tree that had been downed in the explosion.

Explosion!

Athos!

Scrambling to his feet he stumbled to the mouth of the cave. At least where the mouth of the cave had been. Now it was just a pile of unevenly sized rocks and tree debris that had once stood proudly above their camp.

‘Athos. Athos can you hear me?’ he shouted, ‘Athos, please can you hear me? Are you safe?’

D’Artagnan pressed his palm to his forehead as he struggled with emotions that were annoyingly close to the surface. His eyes glazed over as he considered the possibilities of what had happened to his closest friend. No. Thinking about Athos no longer being at his side would not happen. Scrubbing the thoughts of a dead Athos from his mind, he studied the rocks that separated him from his best friend.

If he climbed up to move them, he may be standing on Athos and do him further damage, but if he pulled them out from the bottom, he risked injury to himself and possibly caving in the inside more. There was no other way, he would have to climb up and remove the rubble by hand, as quickly as he could manage. He thought briefly about riding back to Paris, but he was worried about Athos’ survival if he did, it would be a full day possibly more before he would be back with help. 

He climbed as carefully as he could to the top of the mound of rubble and started throwing rocks down from the top of the pile. All his gear was with Athos inside the cave, he couldn’t even light a torch to see better, his only real illumination the infrequent flashes of lightning of the storm that had passed overhead. The longer he struggled to shift the debris, the more certain he was that he could see light coming from beneath him.

‘Athos!’ he called into the small opening he had opened. ‘Athos can you hear me?’

Certain that he had heard a faint response from his mentor, D’Artagnan redoubled his efforts. He had been right; he could now see the flickering of flames of what was left of their campfire. In the dim light he could see Athos slumped in the rubble. Enlarging the hole as much as he dared, D’artagnan slipped through feet first and swung down as gently as he could dropping the last couple of feet to the floor of the cave.

Ignoring the urge to rush straight to Athos side he scrabbled about in the debris on the ground, finding a waterskin and his saddlebag and placing them near Athos, he stoked the fire and dropped a couple of pieces of wood that were still beside the fire onto the ebbing flames. He stoked the fire quickly nurturing a roaring flame and the all-important light he needed to see to his friend.

Kneeling by Athos side, he tried to remember exactly what Aramis did when they were injured. He pressed his hand to Athos’ back just to reassure himself that his friend was still breathing. D’Artagnan breathed a huge sigh of relief as he felt him inhaling. Looping his hands under Athos’ arms he rolled him onto his back and onto his lap. He gasped as Athos face was revealed to him. Heavy bruising was already showing under a thick coating of blood clotted dirt. An open cut decorated one cheekbone and was still sluggishly bleeding and a longer jagged cut that would require stitching along his hairline. 

Reaching over, he pulled the water skin over and pulled the plug from the end before tipping it slowly to Athos’ face.

‘Athos, c’mon my friend.’ He coaxed washing the bloody dirt away from his lips before he gently smacked his cheek trying to rouse him. ‘You need to open those beautiful eyes for me.’

‘mmm.’ Athos groaned, one hand ineffectually batting at D’Artagnan’s hand as it continued to wipe the grime from his face.

‘Don’t move.’ D’Artagnan tried to push him back down as he struggled to sit up. ‘You’ve been injured.’

‘D’Artagnan, where is D’Art?’ Athos fought against the pressure of D’Artagnan’s hands trying to climb to his feet.

‘It’s me, Athos.’ He cupped Atho’s face in his hand and forced him to look into his face. ‘It’s me.’

‘Good, Good.’ He slumped back, his eyes closing for the briefest of moments before they snapped open again. ‘Aramis and Porthos? Are they injured?’

‘They are in Paris, remember?’ D’Artagnan explained, worried about his Mentor’s confusion.

‘No. No. They were with us.’ He pushed up until he was seated, one arm immediately wrapping around his chest. ‘Why are you lying to me?’ Athos surged to his feet, immediately leaning back against the wall of the cave, doubled over in pain.

D’Artagnan climbed to his feet and tried to soothe his friend, worried about his delirium, wishing desperately for Aramis to know what was wrong. ‘Think Athos, earlier, we were in a fight, Porthos was injured and they both went back to Paris and we continued on. Remember, the mission was too important to all turn back.’

‘The letter, where is the letter.’ Athos stood straight, his arm tightening around his middle.

D’Artagnan glanced about their surroundings until he noticed part of Athos’ doublet under some rocks. He pulled it out and poked into the inner pocket, showing Athos the letter.

‘What is that?’ Athos asked.

D’Artagnan stepped closer to Athos and took his hand in his own. ‘That’s the letter, the mission, remember?’

‘Where is Aramis?’ Athos voice was bewildered as D’Artagnan folded him into an embrace.

‘He’s in Paris. He’ll be back tomorrow. We just have to wait until he gets back.’

‘Good. Good.’ Athos frowned as he pulled out of D’Artagnan’s hold. ‘Where is the letter?’

‘Here.’ D’Artagnan sighed, this was going to be a very long night.


	4. Human Shield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continuing saga of Whumptober 19. Young D'Artagnan is never fond of sticking to the program and he's definitely a talker here. I promise eventually there is a human shield.

Athos had finally settled at what D’Artagnan assumed was sometime approaching dawn. Until then he had alternated between complete confusion and mission orientation. He had been in turn pacing the small area of cave worried about the mission or sitting begging D’Artagnan for the whereabouts of their brothers.

About an hour ago, as Athos was struggling with D’Artagnan because he was going to climb out of their cavern and continue their mission, and he had gone silent but instead of trying to bat D’Artagnan’s hands away he gripped his forearms tightly, his nails biting into skin as Athos’ eyes rolled back in his head. D’Artagnan almost fell on him as he fought to lower his mentor to the ground without injuring him. 

He hunkered down beside Athos running his fingers over his ribs trying to decide how badly injured he was. He sighed, he wasn’t Aramis and he couldn’t be sure, but he couldn’t feel anything broken. So now he sat on the dirt floor, Athos head on his lap, patiently waiting for either the sun to rise or Athos to wake and hopefully be more ‘Athos-like’. D’Artagnan fervently hoped for the second to happen first, because his friend’s current mental state was scaring him.

‘I wish Aramis was here.’ He murmured, the growing light in their cavern showing him just how badly Athos had hit his head. He ran his fingers gently across the cuts and nicks on the face he had grown to love. His fingertips grazed featherlight across the dark bruising flaring around his eye, his cheek already swollen so badly that that eye likely wouldn’t open when he did wake.

‘I need to get you out of here.’ D’Artagnan sighed, his fingertips running through the sweaty curls, only to find more lumps and gashes. ‘I can’t lose you here.’  


‘I need you to survive to that conversation so I can tell you what you want to but think you don’t need to know.’ 

He chuckled self-deprecatingly as he lifted one of Athos hands and held it in both of his, his fingertips grazing across the scrapes he found on Athos knuckles. 

‘You know why I asked about Aramis and Porthos?’ he lifted Athos hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles. 

‘Aramis looks at Porthos the way that I’m sure I look at you.’ 

He held Athos hand against his chest with one hand, the other softly combing through Athos hair, ‘I know when we do have the ‘talk’ about this, you, you’re going to tell me I have Constance and a normal life and everything will be great if I just do what everyone expects. Well it won’t. You see, she knows, she knows everything, we are married after all.’ He chuckled, ‘She thinks we’re all idiots. She gets why I am with her and yes she knows that I love her, but she still thinks we’re idiots.’ His thumb brushed across Athos undamaged cheekbone as he spoke, ‘You see I adore Constance, and I do love her, but it’s you that owns my heart.’ 

He let his thumb trail down Athos’ face until it traced his scarred lip, reverently followed the bruised lips, lingering as his gaze followed the path of his fingers, his own lips parting on an expectant sigh. ‘If you were conscious, I would never have the guts to tell you this, because I know you would try to talk me out of what I want.’ He chuckled nervously, ‘What you need.’

A trickle of gravel and small rocks fell from the opening, showering down on Athos legs. D’Artagnan’s first thought was to shield Athos from the scattering dust and rubble with his own body. However, the threat from the falling detritus was inconsequential to the threat from outside their safe haven. Carefully lifting Athos from his lap, he took a stance over him, he only had his main gauche to hand, but he made sure to block him from the opening. Whatever was happening here was not going to harm Athos any further.

‘Athos! D’Artagnan?’ Aramis’ voice called as his head appeared in the opening.

D’Artagnan sagged in relief as he knew that help had arrived.


	5. Gunpoint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does musket point count as gunpoint? The situation for our intrepid musketeers deepens.

By the time both were out of the cavern, Athos was still unconscious. As much as D’Artagnan wanted to help pull their gear out and help Porthos with the horses, he couldn’t, wouldn’t leave Athos side.

‘What happened, Pup?’ Aramis asked as he checked Athos’ injuries.

‘I don’t know, we found the cave when the weather started to turn. I went to check the snares I had set and make sure the horses were secure.’ He shrugged, folding his hands into his armpits to stop reaching out for Athos. ‘I was just leaving the horses when the explosion happened. Is he going to be okay?’

‘I don’t know yet.’ Aramis answered, ‘Why don’t you go and help Porthos?’

‘I’m not leaving him. I wasn’t with him when it happened.’ 

‘Was he awake when you found him?’ 

‘No but he did wake.’ D’Artagnan explained, ‘He worried me, he wasn’t right.’

‘What do you mean?’ Aramis probed as he wiped the dirt and dried blood from Athos’ face.

‘He was confused…scattered.’ D’Artagnan reached out and brushed hair from his face. ‘ He passed out not long before you arrived.’

‘That is the blow to his head.’ Aramis put a hand on D’Artagnan’s arm, ‘We’ll see what happens when he wakes.’

‘How did you find us?’

‘We were talking about what happened and neither of us was happy with leaving you alone. When we saw the weather closing in, we turned back to find you.’ 

‘When the weather turned, we thought it was better to find shelter than continue on.’

“We did the same, but your horses found us, or rather our horses. As soon as we could we started out again, trusting your horses to find you. When we saw the rubble heap, we realised what had happened.’

‘Two men.’ Athos spoke, his voice raspy. ‘Threw a bomb. Couldn’t move it quick enough.’

‘Did you know them?’ Aramis asked as Athos struggled to sit up.

‘No.’ he shook his head and winced at the resulting pain. ‘may have been more. I can’t be sure.’

‘Rest Athos.’ D’Artagnan leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Athos, his hand over the older man’s heart. 

‘No. We must finish the mission.’

‘You aren’t going anywhere just yet.’ Aramis stated, his long fingers pressing against Athos ribs instantly deflating their leader.

‘You were delirious all night, Athos.’ D’Artagnan argued.

‘I was nothing of the sort.’ Athos scoffed, painfully pushing to his feet only to hastily lean back against a tree in order to stay on his feet.

‘I won’t let you hurt yourself, Athos.’ D’Artagnan stood and moved quickly to his side, looping an arm around his waist, attempting to support the older man’s weight.

‘Guys?’ Porthos called, his voice uncertain. As they looked up towards him, they were surprised to see a group of men in an arc around Porthos who stood with his arms held high in the air as the interlopers all held muskets pointed at the big man.

Aramis surged to his feet, his hand immediately dropping to the hilt of his sword, but at the slight shake of Porthos’ head and realising that D’Artagnan and Athos were unarmed, he instead lifted his arms over his head.


	6. Dragged Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So many secrets, when will they all put their cards on the table

Porthos spat the cloth out of his mouth and continued to saw at the ropes around his wrists with the small dagger he kept in the lining of his doublet for occasions just like this. Feeling the rope give way he leaned forward and cut the rope around his ankles before he crawled to Aramis’ side and untied the bandana around his mouth.  


‘Did you see which way they went?’ Aramis asked as Porthos cut his bindings.

The struggle had been brief but hard, Porthos was the last to fall so he had the most chance of knowing which direction they needed to start in. Athos had stepped forward, declaring that he was their leader which immediately painted a target on him. D’Artagnan and Aramis were tied at wrist and ankle as their captors held a musket to Athos and Porthos heads. A bandanna was tied around their mouths to stop them calling out before a man who rivalled Porthos in size slammed their heads together and they fell to the ground unconscious. Using Athos as inspiration Porthos acquiesced to their demands and allowed himself to be tied and gagged. They pushed him down to the ground his back against a tree before they bound Athos hands and feet. 

Porthos had frowned, not understanding as they tied a long segment of rope to Athos’ hand bindings, but it didn’t take long for him to figure it out.

‘Look after them.’ Athos had spoken his eyes meeting Porthos. Porthos had nodded and watched as their leader was pulled off his feet by the horse of the leader of the brigands. That was the last he saw as he was hit in the side of the head and the world blacked out around him.

‘No,’ Porthos answered reluctant to divulge just how Athos left with them, ‘But he’ll be slowing them down. I’ll round up the horses. I think they left our tack and weapons where we dropped it.’

He pressed the knife into Aramis’ hands and jogged away.

Aramis quickly divested D’Artagnan of his bonds. As D’Artagnan would have gone to help Porthos Aramis caught him by the arm and spun him around to speak to him.  
‘What’s going on?’ he snapped, angry at everything that had happened with this mission.

‘Nothing.’ D’Artagnan rubbed his wrists, ‘Athos is hurt, and we had no business just letting them take him.’

‘What happened between you two?’ Aramis asked, he was sure there was something that he was missing. Something that had happened between when they had left after Porthos stabbing and their return.

‘We don’t have time for this, Aramis.’ D’Artagnan snapped at him.

‘Why not?’ Aramis frowned, ‘What do you know that we don’t?’

‘They dragged Athos away because they are assuming that he has the letter for the Comte de Luisigan, he doesn’t.’ D’Artagnan reached into his doublet and pulled out the sealed note. ‘I do.’

‘Why do you have it?’ Aramis asked. ‘You know what? I don’t care. I’m not going to let this go, Pup.’

‘You didn’t see him in the night, Aramis.’ D’Artagnan lifted his weapons belt from the pile of their belongings and started strapping it on before he spoke again. ‘I know you think he’s fine…’

‘I never said he was fine.’ Aramis interjected.

‘There is something wrong in his head.’ D’Artagnan lifted Athos’ weapons belt and buckled it, hooking it over his shoulder. ‘I don’t know if it’s just something odd or worse, but I don’t want him to wake and be confused like he was last night. Especially not alone. What if he hits his head again?’ D’Artagnan was becoming more agitated as he imagined the damage being done to his mentor.

‘What has happened between the two of you?’ Aramis narrowed his eyes as he looked at their youngest and the angst barely below the surface of his emotions. 

‘Let me ask you something?’ D’Artagnan stopped Aramis, ‘Tell me how you care for Porthos, and I don’t mean the brother story, I mean how you really feel.’

Aramis scowled darkly at D’Artagnan, ‘I don’t see how that is any of your business, Pup, he’s my brother, that is all you need to know.’

‘I know it’s more than just brotherly feelings you bear. Why don’t you just tell me the truth?’

‘Because there is nothing more than brotherhood, there is nothing else to tell you.’ Aramis clenched and unclenched his fists as he struggled to hold his temper. ‘I will not put Porthos in danger.’

‘If you won’t tell me, your brother, the truth, why should I tell you anything about my brother? We are all in the same danger, Aramis.’ 

D’Artagnan turned on his heel and went to find Porthos, the horses and the rest of their gear so they could find Athos.


	7. Isolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our Athos is quite the solitary figure when ha wants to be, but he's taken a whumping and didn't choose this solitary outcome. Will his brothers find him or will his captors recapture him.

Athos worried his bottom lip with his teeth. For the first time in his military career he didn’t have even a semblance of a plan. He didn’t know how he was going to get out of this. To admit to himself that he was at less than his physical peak would be an understatement and he was man enough to admit that to himself at least. The explosion had robbed him of his senses, his brain felt like it was pulsing inside his skull wanting nothing more than to burst out of its captivity. Broken bones hurt, but having his mind betraying him like this was not helping him to stay alive long enough for rescue. His captors had left him to himself after they had unhappily discovered that he wasn’t carrying the missive they were seeking which led to much more violence and aggression.

He could add that beating to his list of strange incidences since this mission began. His list of physical woes was certainly unusual on a mission. The explosion had not broken his ribs; being dragged behind a galloping horse for what felt like kilometres had not, either, though that had robbed him of most of the fabric of his shirt and a good deal of the skin of his torso; but, being pounded on by a man bigger and twice as strong as Porthos had certainly done the trick.

He should consider himself lucky, he had been strung up in a tree. His hands pulled over his head, the rope tied taut enough that he could keep his feet flat on the ground, but that was his only concession. When they had discovered his lack of letter, he had received his pummelling and while he was still gasping for breath a sack that smelled distinctly of salt was dragged over his head. To add insult to injury they tied the sack around his neck, so he had little hope of dislodging it; even if he had the energy to try. It hadn’t taken him long to discover that if he let his head loll in any direction, the ropes pulled tight against his throat and lessened his ability to breath even further. The little energy he had he would not waste.

That wasn’t true. He had energy but most of that was currently occupied with trying to keep himself conscious. To that end his focus was breathing. He could feel his ribs grating against each other every time he took a deep breath. That was hardly a problem now because he could barely draw enough air to take a shallow breath and the cord around his neck was making it more and more difficult to swallow.

His thoughts were muddled, he didn’t know how the letter had escaped his possession. Treville had impressed on him the vital importance of its swift delivery. He remembered the weight of the letter against his chest as they had departed but after that his thoughts were muzzy and hard to catch. A moving carousel of fragments of thoughts, memories that he couldn’t quite catch as they glittered out of reach, a new partially remembered scene teasing him with clarity that dissolved into wisps of emptiness in his head.

His captors had been talking about using him as bait for his brothers and even considered sending a ransom note to the king for his ‘safe’ return. They had decided however that he was just a lowly musketeer and there would be no reward for his skin, harmed or not. They had fallen silent after that and it didn’t matter how hard he strained; it had been some time since he had heard their voices. 

He could only hope that he could stay alert until his brothers found him. He could not bear the thought of his brothers finding him hanging senselessly from a tree branch. Athos tested the branch he could feel it move under his weight, it bowed slightly but not nearly enough to emancipate himself from his situation. He waited, straining his ears trying to hear his captors, waiting for the expected chastisement for his movement. Receiving no reaction, he decided to try his luck further. Taking a deep fortifying breath, he jumped up and caught the branch in his bound hands, letting gravity and his own body weight do its job, he bent his knees and bounced on the branch, praying that this would work. 

He screamed in blinding agony as his shoulder gave way under pressure that was too great for the joint, but he couldn’t stop in his actions, moments that felt like hours later a loud crack signalled the beginning of his success. Pouring the last of his strength into his mission he swung himself forward and down. Landing hard on his knees the branch banged across the back of his head propelling him face first into the leaf litter on the forest floor, another lump on his skull the necessary payment for his liberation.

He wasn’t sure if he lost consciousness, but it was only when his senses returned to him, he rolled onto his back and he lay gasping in the leaves like a grounded fish he realised that his captors weren’t there. If they were, they would certainly be punishing him for his shenanigans. Gathering his strength, he took stock of his injuries and awkwardly pushed himself to a seated position.

He tried desperately to remove the sack from his head but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t reach the knots securing it and trying to pull it from the cords fastening it all he succeeded in doing was strangling himself. Knowing that he was still in danger of resuming his role of captive if they returned, he knew sightless or not he had to move, and he had to do it quickly.

Athos had always appreciated time alone, rarely did he feel lonely; but the prospect of roaming the forest with his hands bound and his sight taken from him had given him a sense of isolation he had never felt before. He wished for his brothers’ companionship more than he ever had before. He wanted D’Artagnan at his side, he frowned to himself. Something tugged at his consciousness whenever he thought of the whelp, it hovered just outside his minds reach and he frowned unable to catch elusive wisps of memory no matter how hard he tried.

Staggering to his feet, the new and mild pain of his landing in his knees was nothing compared to the pain in his shoulder which was even minimising the pain of his ribs. Breathing forced him to bite into his lip to stop himself crying out, the tiniest movement pushed black smokiness through the perimeter of his awareness. With his hands bound together he had no way to support the dislodged joint and every breath sent a frisson of pain skittering along the nerve endings. 

Blinded by the sack he had no choice but to hold his hands out to map his unsteady path. One hand open, his grazed palm reaching forward to feel for obstacles in his path, while the other hung uselessly fingers curled into his palm, the pain of his arm dragging on the maligned joint shot razor sharp daggers into his already agonised head.

He knew that he was probably increasing his own isolation, making it even harder for his brothers to find him, but every pain-filled, uncertain step took him further from his captors and in this very moment that was all he could bear.

One stuttering, hunched step after another, he listened to the crunch of the dead leaves under his feet, the rough bark of trees he stumbled into rough against his abraded palms, but he wouldn’t succumb.

He. Must. Keep. Moving.


	8. Stab Wounds

D’Artagnan clenched his teeth so hard he was sure they would crack, but at least he wouldn’t be castigating his brothers again. It wasn’t that he believed the words that he had flung at them, but it had been hours. Dusk was falling, and with it any likelihood of finding Athos today. His anger was simmering just under the surface and every delay in finding their leader was like a knife in his chest. He knew that Porthos and Aramis thought he was overreacting, but they hadn’t seen what he had. That night with Athos would be seared into his memory forever and he hoped that he would never see it again.

‘Whelp?’ Porthos slapped him on the thigh. D’Artagnan had been so deep in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard his brothers’ approach.

‘I’m sorry.’ He shook his head trying to clear the dark thoughts that had plagued him all day.

‘We’ll find him.’ Porthos squeezed his knee.

‘It’s my fault. We should have ridden through the night. I shouldn’t have left him in the cave.’ D’Artagnan dismounted, passing the reins of the other horses to Porthos, even as he slipped his mounts reins over its head and turned to face the big man. ‘This mission has been a disaster from the first.’

‘It’s not your fault whelp, it’s just a series of unfortunate events.’

‘Did the malcontent say anything helpful?’ D’artagnan asked hopefully.

‘Nothing useful, he’s busy playing the ‘I don’t know anything’ game. But ‘mis will get it out of him.’

‘I don’t know why you two wouldn’t let me talk to him.’ 

‘Because you aren’t in the right place to do it.’ Porthos answered simply. ‘You’re too worried about Athos. If it was ‘mis I might be the same. Let ‘mis do it, he’ll find out where he is, he loves him too. Then we’ll bring him home.’

‘How did you know?’ D’Artagnan’s attention snapped up to Porthos face.

‘You’re kidding me, right?’ Porthos’ eyes narrowed as he watched his companion. ‘You are both as bad as each other. You look at him like he hung the moon and he looks at you like he’d give it to you if only you asked him for it.’

‘You mean like you and Aramis?’ D’artagnan smiled.

‘Aye, lad, just like that.’ Porthos whispered as Aramis walked towards them.

‘I suggest we camp for tonight and leave in the morning; he should be about an hour from here where the forest is denser.’

‘We will go tonight?’ D’artagnan asked, but they all knew he was demanding action.

‘No. We will camp here. I promise you at first light we will go if we miss a landmark, we may never find him.’

D’Artagnan was annoyed but he knew it was the situation not his brothers lack of action. He switched his reins to his other hand and pressed them into Porthos gloved hand ‘Fine I’m going to find some wood for a fire maybe set a snare,’

Aramis watched his back until he was out of earshot. ‘I don’t know how he will fare if we don’t find our leader in a living condition.’

‘Wait you don’t think he’s…gone… do you? Tears pricked at Porthos eyes unbidden at the thought of such a loss.

‘Our captive friend indicated that he has taken a very bad beating.’

‘Athos has been beaten before; he’ll be fine.’ Porthos nodded to himself, determined to keep a positive outlook.

‘He was already in poor condition when he left us, mon ami. I suggest it might be wise to not set our own expectations too high, it will fall to us to balance the pup and if things overcome us, I fear that he might be lost as well.’

‘I won’t hear this.’ Porthos growled and turned his back on his partner. ‘You’ve given up on him. I won’t listen to this from you of all people.’

‘I have done nothing of sort, Cherie.’ Aramis made the two steps it took to place his palm flat against Porthos strong, broad back. ‘I pray that he still lives. I pray that he isn’t hurt as badly as I fear. I pray that we find him before he succumbs to whatever they have done to him. I cannot imagine a life without our fearless leader in it. I only say that I worry for the lad. He pins his hope and his heart on Athos, and I fear that if the worst should happen and we aren’t able to contain our own grief that we shall not be enough to tether him to our continued brotherhood.’

‘shouldn’t we worry about that bridge if and when we come to it.’ Porthos asked. He still hadn’t turned to face Aramis but reached a hand behind him. 

Aramis laced his gloved fingers through Porthos and squeezed. ‘We shall continue just as we are. We know he lives we just need to find him. I just need you…us…to be ready if things are not as we wish them. I am sure the whelp will feel his loss as deeply as if a dagger was stabbed into his heart.’

Porthos turned then, his lashes wet and pulled Aramis into a tight embrace, Aramis head fitting into the curve of Porthos neck as they hugged and drew strength from each other. Both knowing that the coming days would require them to be both strong and merciful in their search for their missing brother.

‘C’mon then, best we help the whelp, or he’ll think we’re deserting him too.

They stepped back, their distance as required in polite salons, but their hands remained linked, Porthos dragging Aramis into the tree line and towards their captive.

‘Dear God.’ Aramis stepped from behind Porthos trying to see what had caused Porthos to stop dead in his tracks. Their captive was in a decidedly worse condition than he had been when Aramis left him and D’Artagnan was nowhere to be seen.

‘What has he done?’ Porthos released his hold on Aramis’ hand and moved with a speed that belied his size to touch the neck of their captive. 

‘Is he?’ Aramis asked, watching and waiting for Porthos answer.

‘He’s alive.’ Porthos stood, and turned, his hands on his hips. ‘I should have known D’Artagnan would do something stupid.’

‘Why shouldn’t he?’ Aramis grizzled. ‘he thinks we’re failing his love. He doesn’t want to lose him.’

‘We’ll camp here, set off at first light.’ Porthos ran his fingers through his curls as their captive started to wake beside him.


	9. Shackled

D’Artagnan kept to the sparser tree growth, trying to use the almost full moon to illuminate his path. He hadn’t wanted to trick Aramis and Porthos, but he couldn’t see any other way. Something in his gut told him that Athos needed him, and he needed him tonight, not tomorrow, now. So, instead of staying with his brothers he had besmirched his honour and extracted all the information he needed to find his leader from the prisoner. He wasn’t going to be shackled by anything, he was going to find Athos.

He moved as quietly as he could, trying to minimise the noise of his boots crushing the leaf litter on the ground. Andreas, the man they had captured, had given him specific directions and he had already passed one of the markers as directed. Thank the heavens for Spanish thugs that carved markers into trees, so they didn’t get lost in the French forest.

Lost in thought and concentrating on moving as silently as he could, D’Artagnan almost missed the sounds of someone following him. Cursing his own stupidity his ducked behind the largest tree closest to him and lifted his pistol off his belt and cast his gaze around the trees, searching for the source of the sound.  
That was when he saw it.

At first he wasn’t sure what he thought he was seeing. A man was staggering from tree to tree. At least he thought it was a man. He was barely clothed, the shreds of a linen shirt hanging from his shoulders, the front of the shirt totally gone, the breeches ripped to shreds the threads hanging shredded from his waist, his feet bare. A hessian sack covered his head and appeared to be tied on. That was when he realised that the man was his Athos.

He moved as quickly as he could, his eyes filling with tears at the suffering Athos was bearing. D’Artagnan was about two paces from Athos, he lifted his hands held out in front of him unsure how or where to touch his friend.

‘who’s there?’ Athos yelled. ‘I can feel you. Tell me who you are?’ 

He fell to his knees, a cry of pain falling from his lips unbidden as he jarred his arm. 

‘Please, kill me if you want to but please no more.’ 

‘Athos?’ D’Artagnan murmured, ‘Please, it’s me.’ Moving forward he put his hand on Athos back.

‘D’Artagnan?’ Athos tilted his head towards the noise.

‘It’s me, Athos.’ D’Artagnan soothed him, his hand rubbing gently across the taut skin he touched.

‘No, no.’ Athos whimpered, ‘D’Artagnan is safe, he can’t be here.’

Lifting his hand, D’Artagnan took his main gauche from his own belt and as gently as he could sawed at the rope around Athos’ neck. When it fell away, D’Artagnan lifted the edge of the sack and let his thumb rub against the tension in Athos neck.

‘I’m here, my darling, I have you. I will be alright.’ D’Artagnan murmured as he lifted the sack from Athos head, wincing as he pulled the rough fabric away from skin that it had adhered to.

He gasped when he saw Athos face, his hair matted and wet with sweat, his face a mess of bloody gashes and bruising, his beard matted with blood and saliva. Released from the sack Athos drew in large gulps of fresh air, his need for the air momentarily overriding the pain in his shoulder.

For the first time since he started his solo trek D’Artagnan was sorry for doing it. Aramis had the equipment and the knowledge to help Athos. All D’Artagnan had was love and his presence. He prayed that would be enough.

He glanced around and picked out a spot that was both protected and adequate for their needs. He wished for a water skin so he could clean Athos up, but for the moment all he could do was keep him safe and loved until Aramis found them in the morning.

‘Athos, you need to stand up.’ D’Artagnan wasn’t sure how to touch Athos and help him without hurting him more that he already was. He took his knife out again and sliced carefully through the rope binding Athos’ hands. As his arm dropped, Athos screamed in pain, the sudden unexpected movement of his dislocated shoulder was a burst of white-hot agony that made his eyes roll back in his head. If D’Artagnan hadn’t been there to catch him, Athos would have fallen on his face in the leaf litter.


	10. Unconscious

Thankful that he was unconscious, D’artagnan lifted his friend and dragged him to the small clearing he had pinpointed. Slipping his doublet off, D’Artagnan folded it and gently lifted Athos head resting it against his doublet. Using his main gauche, he cut through the remnants of Athos shirt and pulled and tugged at it until he had it in the position, he wanted it in. Pulling his injured arm with gentle caring fingers, he bent it at the elbow and rested his swollen hand against Athos chest. Moving the shirt remnants, he tied it off so that it supported Athos elbow and left his arm in a natural position so it would cause less damage to the damaged joint.

Glancing down at his mentor he leapt to his feet and jogged towards the small creek he had jumped over earlier. Wetting the piece of fabric from Athos shirt and wrung it out as best he could. He leaned down and sipped the fresh water, willing Aramis to get here as quickly as he could.

Returning to Athos side, D’Artagnan lifted his good arm, and wiped at all the cuts and abrasions, cleaning his fingers and pressing Athos’ arm and laid it back on the ground at his side. Taking a deep breath, D’Artagnan started wiping at the dirt and grime on Athos chest.

‘You don’t have to do that.’ Athos voice was gravelly with pain.

‘Why not?’ D’Artagnan lifted his hand to cup the side of Athos face, his thumb tracing lightly across the bruised cheekbone.

‘I don’t know.’ Athos closed his eyes, wishing for the words he wanted to say to this brave young man that meant so much to him.

‘I know that there are words that you don’t want to hear from me, but if this mission has told me anything, I know now that I need to take things in hand, I need to tell people what I feel and not be afraid of what will happen.’

‘You don’t need to say anything, D’Artagnan.’ Athos lifted his good hand and brushed gently across D’Artagnan’s thigh.

‘I don’t care anymore, Athos.’ D’artagnan moved his hand, his thumb tracing the line of Athos’ lips, pausing on the damaged lip to brush back and forth before he rested his hand palm down on Athos sternum, the strong beat of his heart under his flesh. ‘I love you; I know I have Constance, but I need you. Anyway, you will have me.’

‘You are married, pup.’ Athos words were soft and heartfelt. ‘As am I but may the heavens open and rain down on me, I can’t say no to you. I need you. So help me God, I need you too.’

‘We will work this out Athos.’ D’artagnan leaned forward and pressed his lips against Athos his breath against soft bruised lips when he spoke again. ‘We need to sit down with Constance and talk seriously. If I could marry you both I would. My heart is big enough for the two of you and it’s finally complete.’

‘You are such an impetuous fool.’ Athos lifted his hand to stroke the side of D’Artagnan’s face. ‘But you’re my fool, so I think I’ll keep you.’

D’Artagnan pressed his hand to Athos’ and pulled his hand down to press his lips to Athos’ palm.

He moved to lay beside Athos. His back supported by a tree. Moving carefully, he lifted Athos, he could feel the pain and tension in the older man and used his own body to cushion him.

‘I’m too old for you.’ Athos murmured. ‘You and your beautiful wife don’t need my ancient old bones getting in the way.’

‘I wouldn’t have you any other way, my love.’ D’Artagnan let his hand skim over the matted knots of Athos’ hair and traced the lumps on the scalp under his fingers.

‘You can tell no one. Anyone who knows and doesn’t tell will die alongside us.’

‘We’re not dying, not any time soon and I swear on my honour that we will not say a word to anyone.’

‘It will be hard in public, even with our brothers, familiarity will be the rope that will hang us.’

‘We can do this. We can.’ D’Artagnan press a kiss against the top of Athos head. ‘It will be easier than both of us trying not to touch each other.’ He shrugged, ‘Rest.’

‘Thank you for being you.’ Athos murmured, his voice fading as he slipped under the waves of his exhaustion.

‘I want you to give me the moon, Athos.’ D’Artagnan whispered.


	11. Stitches

The sun had barely peeked past the horizon when Aramis and Porthos found their brothers. They had already made the decision that they were calling an end to this mission and returning to Paris as soon as Athos was able to travel, so before the sky had even begun to lighten they had secured their prisoner to a sturdy tree and were on the path to find their missing brothers.

It hadn’t taken long and both of them stood and watched their sleeping brothers, not wanting to disturb the tableau they stumbled across.  
‘Seems they sorted themselves out.’ Porthos whispered, ‘And he’s alive.’

‘He’s in rough shape.’ Aramis was already cataloguing the injuries he could see, his mind formulating the herbs and remedies he would need. ‘Can you get my supplies from my horse?’

‘Sure.’ Porthos slapped him on the back and retraced their steps back to their horses.

Aramis moved closer to his slumbering brothers, not surprised to see D’Artagnan watching him.

‘That was a sneaky trick.’ Aramis shook his head, tsking at his younger brother.

‘He’s alive, ‘Mis.’ D’Artagnan’s hand resumed its gentle stroking of Athos hair. ‘They left him with a sack over his head.’

Aramis squatted beside them, his fingers gently cataloguing injuries he couldn’t see. ‘Has he been conscious?’

‘He was stumbling around the forest when I found him. He was confused but talking.’ D’Artagnan answered, ‘His shoulder is dislocated, at least one rib is broken.’

‘I see you sorted yourselves.’ Aramis grinned, his fingers still working, ‘Some of these are going to need stitches.’

‘’Mis.’ Athos mumbled under his breath, shrugging away from Aramis’ gently probing fingers.

‘Nice of you to show up.’ Aramis moved his attention to Athos’ face, checking his eyes and probing the heavy bruising on his cheekbone. ‘They really did you over, my friend.’

‘They just left, ‘mis.’ Athos let his eyes slip closed, ‘they just left me.’

‘I know, mon cher, I know.’

‘No, they just left. The king is in danger. You and Porthos need to go back and warn the captain.’

‘And what are you doing?’ Aramis sat back on his haunches waiting for athos’ response.

‘D’Artagnan and I will continue with the missive.’

Aramis shushed D’Artagnan as he would have protested. ‘Very well we’ll just wait for you to get underway. You won’t need my help to get on your way then will you.’

Athos his eyes still closed, barely nodded in response. ‘I’ll just rest a moment.’

‘You’re an idiot. No-one is going on. You’re going to lay here and let me patch you up. And if it’s so damned important for us to get back to Paris that quickly, after you rest a little we’ll start back.’

‘Okay.’ Athos agreed, his head lolled to the side again as he gave in to the darkness once more.


	12. Don't Move

Aramis used Athos’ unconsciousness to wash most of the dirt, blood and sweat from Athos body, wriggling him out of his tattered braies and into fresh ones and his badly damaged breeches over them. Porthos rendered aid wherever he could, d’Artagnan holding him tenderly, doing his best to keep his shoulder immobilised.

Aramis dreaded his next task, knowing how much pain it was going to cause his friend, but he really couldn’t put it off any longer.

‘D’Artagnan can you sit forward? Hold him against your chest and wrap your arms around his chest.’ He nodded his head as he watched D’Artagnan move so that, Athos was sitting between his legs, his head tilted back against D’Artagnan’s shoulder. He slid his hands around Athos ribcage trying not to press too hard on his ribs, all while not jostling his injured arm. When he had Athos’ torso held against his own, he flattened his palms against his skin, tightening his hold on the injured man.

‘Perfect, Porthos, can you sit across his calves here, and hold onto his thighs?’ Aramis gestured to Porthos indicating exactly what he wanted.

He waited until Porthos was in place and knelt beside them all, his hands hovering over Athos’ shoulder. ‘Ready gentlemen? It’s imperative that you don’t move.’ He watched both men nod, and in one smooth rapid gesture he lifted Athos arm up and away from his body with one hand while pressing against the shoulder joint with his other hand. Two things happened at once. His shoulder popped back into place with a grating click and Athos erupted into consciousness with a bloodcurdling scream of blinding pain all while trying desperately to move away from the pain.

‘Ssh, Athos, ssh, it’s alright, it will be better now.’ D’Artagnan soothed quietly into his ear, one hand holding his good hand, the other cupping his head and holding it against his shoulder.

‘Hurts.’ He whimpered into the curve of D’Artagnan’s neck.

‘I know, darling, I know.’ He crooned, one hand lifting to cup Athos face pressing their foreheads together trying to give him some of his strength, ‘mis has fixed it now.’

Athos nodded, his mind barely holding onto consciousness, D’Artagnan’s nonsense murmurings soothing him into a fugue somewhere between awake and pained moaning.

As Athos settled against him, D’Artagnan looked at Aramis. ‘He’s burning up.’

‘I know, and I’m loathe to suggest it, but the best place for him is Paris.’ 

‘If we can get him up on my horse, I’ll go slow and steady, you two can go ahead and get a cart.’ D’Artagnan suggested.

‘We’ll give him some time, if I can get a pain draft into him hopefully that will go a lot easier on him.


	13. Adrenaline

In the end it was easy to lift him onto the horse, still unconscious Athos was lifted, held upright by Porthos as d’Artagnan mounted behind him and held him pressed against his torso. Aramis had wound bandages tightly around Athos’ ribs, and slipped Porthos spare shirt over his head to both preserve his modesty and protect him from the sun he would be exposed to. The much larger shirt slipping over his head and sleeves slipping over one arm, the other secured across his chest. D’Artagnan would keep the horse at an even, steady pace, trying to hold Athos firmly yet loosely enough that the movement of the horse would not be jarring to his injured friend.

‘Are you sure you’ll be alright?’ Aramis asked again, leaning over to press the back of his hand against Athos’ cheek, frowning at the intensity of the heat of the skin he touched.

‘There is no other way, Aramis. If we were to wait here, I fear that we may be too late for him, his fever is already bad. At least this way we will be narrowing the distance you need to return and reducing the time before we can be sure he’s safe.’ He paused watching his friends face crease in consternation. ‘We’ll be fine, Aramis.’ D’Artagnan pressed his lips to the tangled hair that rested against his chin. ‘Slow and Steady.’

‘We’ll be as quick as we can.’ Porthos assured him, heartened by the affection in the boy’s care of their leader.

‘We’ll be here.’ D’Artagnan nodded, ‘If anything changes, we’ll dismount and wait.’

‘If that happens, may God be with the both of you.’ Aramis crossed himself and sent his gaze heavenward before he reached out to clasp d’Artagnan’s hand.

Aramis nodded as he turned his horse back towards Paris. When he reached Porthos side they both urged their mounts into a gallop and made their leave.

D’Artagnan tightened his arms around Athos and urged his horse into a gentle walk, even being unconscious the uneven rocking of the horse’s movements drew occasional whimpers of pain out of his precious cargo.

He moved to hold his reins in one hand, he used the other to sooth Athos, his gloved thumb tracing the lines of pain from his face. His eyes scanned the trees surrounding the road continuously cautious lest they were riding helplessly into an ambush.

‘What…is…wrong?’ Athos murmured, even his breath hot.

‘Nothing is wrong. Well nothing but the man I love burning up with fever while we are so far from help.’

‘’m fine.’ Athos muttered. ‘With you.’

‘You’re delirious.’ D’Artagnan chuckled. Tightening his hold on his mentor, he pressed a kiss to the top of his head. ‘You should try and rest. We’ll be in Paris by nightfall.’

‘kay.’ Athos head lolled forward again. 

His arm tight around Athos chest, he could feel the heat rolling off his skin, his worry increased, he was beginning to think that their rescue plan was going to be too little too late. He knew that his slow pace was to save Athos as much pain as they could, but that wouldn’t help him if the delay would see him dead. Tightening his hold, d’Artagnan urged his mount into a canter, hoping that Athos stayed unconscious as they rode. 

Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he worried for his would-be lover, desperately hoping they weren’t too late.


	14. Tear Stained

The city gates were in view by the time they returned with a wagon, the sun sinking below the horizon casting long shadows in its wake. Athos was trembling with his fever but still unconscious, d’Artagnan murmuring soothing words in his ear as they rode. D’Artagnan wouldn’t give up his cargo content that they would reach the garrison quicker if they just continued on their way.

When they rode into the garrison, the horse’s hooves loud on the cobblestones, Constance was standing on the bottom step, Treville on the landing behind her, both clearly watching for their return.

‘Brujon, Claremont!’ Constance called, ‘Help d’Artagnan.’ 

The two cadets melted out of the shadows and stood on either side of D’Artagnan’s mount, one hand on Athos’ thigh and one on his torso, holding him up as d’Artagnan slipped from the saddle and with the cadets help carefully lowered him from the horse. He stood there holding Athos flush against him, Athos head on his shoulder, his arms the only thing holding him upright as Porthos and Aramis drove the wagon into the yard, Brujon leading the horse towards the stables.

‘Take him to the infirmary.’ Treville ordered from the landing.

‘No,’ Constance countermanded. ‘He’ll be more comfortable in our rooms, d’Artagnan.’ 

‘Very well then.’ Treville acquiesced.

Porthos scooped Athos up and carried him down the few steps to the d’Artagnan’s quarters, stepping carefully through the doors to find the bed freshly made, medical supplies waiting on the bedside chest. He laid Athos on the bed then lifted the sweat soaked shirt over his head before he laid him back against the pillows and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead before he stepped back.

Aramis stepped in front of him and sat on the edge of the bed, wincing as he saw the angry weeping cuts that he had cleaned and tended just this morning.

‘Aramis?’ Treville asked from the doorway.

‘I don’t know, Minister.’ Aramis answered honestly.

‘Keep me informed I need to get back to the palace. If you need me for anything send a message.’

‘I will.’

Treville clasped Athos foot and then turned and walked away. 

As he walked away d’Artagnan and Constance almost tumbled through the door in their eagerness to get inside. Both of them stood at the side of the bed, watching as Aramis started to cut the stitches, he had made that morning to clean out the wounds. When he could spare a moment, he looked up at them, their hands clasped tightly between them, both watching Athos, their faces stained with tears. He frowned as he looked back at his patient. He had wondered how Constance would fit into the relationship that his brothers were forging, perhaps she wouldn’t be as displaced as he had thought she would be. But that was a thought for later, if they could reduce Athos temperature and remove the infection that was taking hold.

‘Constance?’ he called as he cleaned one of the cuts, ‘Could you assist me mon cher?’

‘Absolutely, what do you need?’ she pulled her hand out of d’Artagnan’s and moved to Aramis' side ready to aid however she could.

‘Can you wipe him down; we need to break his fever.’ Aramis didn’t look up but continued to wipe the discharge from the cuts he was treating.

‘What can I do, Aramis?’ d’Artagnan asked, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. ‘Will he be alright?’

‘You know better than anyone what a hard time he has had. His fever needs to be broken and it worries me that he doesn’t not even stir when I am causing him pain. If his fever breaks soon, we’ll have a better chance of saving him.’

‘Wait! Chance?’ d’Artagnan wailed. ‘You have to save him, Aramis.’

Aramis stood and grabbed d’Artagnan by the shoulders, looking him in the face. ‘I’m not God, d’Artagnan. I will do what I can. You know that I will. But I’m not God.’  
D’Artagnan dragged Aramis into his arms, hugging him in a rib crushing hold. ‘Please save him for me, Aramis.’

‘I’ll do my best.’ Aramis nodded and pulled out of d’Artagnan’s embrace.

‘d’Artagnan, you can help me.’ Constance stood and lifted the bowl of water on the chest. ‘You take his breeches off while I’m getting fresh water. Your job is to work on his fever until it breaks.’

Aramis smiled at the way Constance took control of her husband and gave him a purpose to take his mind off his worry.

She bustled from the room and returned shortly after with two cadets in tow. Each carrying a bowl of cold water which they left on the table by the window and backed quickly out of the room.

Aramis finished cleaning the wounds on Athos torso, then moved onto the scratches on his face and arms. All the while, d’Artagnan and Constance wiped his skin with cool cloths, changing the cloths when they were warmed by his skin. When he had cleaned the wounds as much as he could he sat back watching as his two friends tended to his brother.

‘I’m going to go and prepare a poultice and a pain draft for him. Will you be alright until I return?’ 

‘He doesn’t need needlework?’ Constance asked.

‘I’m going to leave them open, while the infection is still there.’

‘We’ll be fine, Aramis.’ Constance dismissed Aramis without even lifting her gaze from Athos.

Aramis walked out of the room and Constance stood, watching her husband closely. She lifted two clean cloths from the stack she had left on the table and moved around to the other side of the bed. She nudged her husband and waited until he looked up at her, his brown eyes liquid.

‘He’s going to be fine.’ She whispered as she pulled him closer to her, his head resting against her belly, her fingers brushing through his silky hair.

‘You don’t know that.’ 

‘I do know that.’ Constance murmured, her eyes never leaving Athos relaxed features. ‘He would not leave us.’

‘You can’t know that.’ D’Artagnan’s voice quivered, Constance knew that his tears were overflowing but she wouldn’t be the one to point that out to him.

‘I do know that.’ She pushed him away from her and catching his chin in her hand. She brushed one lingering tear off his cheek and bent down to press her lips to his. ‘I know that because we’re not going to let him go. We are going to do everything we humanly can to keep him with us.’

‘What would I do without you?’ d’Artagnan leaned up and kissed her again.

‘I don’t know, and I suggest you never find out.’ She smiled at him as she pulled him to his feet. ‘Now get around to the other side of the bed, closer to him and cool him down.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ His smile didn’t reach his eyes, but reassured he took a fresh cloth from her and moved around to the other side of the bed, sitting down and dipping the cloth into the bowl of water on the chest.

They continued their ministrations, wiping and dabbing at his skin. D’Artagnan always keeping one of Athos hands tightly folded in his own. Aramis returned and applied his poultice to the worst of the wounds and helped Athos to drink a tea that would hopefully reduce his fever and the pain as well. Despite his own need to stay by his patient’s side, Aramis could see that the d’Artagnan’s needed to be with him more, so with a promise to return in the morning, Aramis withdrew.

Constance and d’Artagnan worked tirelessly long into the night, refreshing the cloths over and over, always touching his skin with the chilled wet fabric, wiping the sweat from his skin as it appeared. Just when they thought their cause was lost as the rising sun started to lighten the corners of their bedroom, d’Artagnan reached up to take the cloth from Athos forehead and refresh it to find weary green eyes staring at him.

‘Athos.’ He lifted their clasped hands to his lips and kissed his knuckles. ‘How long have you been awake?’

‘Moments.’ His voice was gravelly, he turned his head to look at Constance who leaned over to press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

‘I’ll go get Aramis.’ She grinned at him. ‘It’s so good to see your eyes open. Are you hungry?’

‘Don’t think so.’ Athos frowned, his eyes slipping closed, then blinking open again. ‘Why am I in your quarters?’

‘Because you belong here, silly.’ Constance called back as she left the room, intent on finding Aramis.


	15. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Technically this isnt whump but it is a dose of angst, so am I forgiven?

‘I can’t stay here!’

‘Explain to me monsieur, why not?’ Constance railed, hands on her hips tired of this argument.

‘Because it’s your marriage bed.’ Athos painfully pulled himself higher against the pillows.

‘And its currently your sick bed.’ Constance countered. ‘even if it weren’t, you’re not going anywhere.’

‘So, I’m your prisoner now?’ His eyes widened as he pulled his sheet higher against his bare chest.

Constance came closer to the bed and perched herself on the edge of the mattress. Lifting Athos hand in her own she clasped his hand in both of hers. 

‘You’re being silly.’ She castigated him gently.

‘You are a married woman Constance. It’s most unseemly to have a man you’re not married to in your bed.’

‘Oh, Athos, my darling man.’ She chuckled, lifting their clasped hands to her lips and pressed a kiss to his fingertips. ‘Do you think if I was worried about being proper, I would have lived here alone with only cadets for company for the four years you were away at war.’ 

She lifted one hand to his face to brush her thumb across the receding bruising on his cheekbone. 

‘Do you think I would have taken my husband as a lover while I was still married? Or worse still do you think I would have admitted to my husband that I also love another man? The same man that I know my husband also loves?’

‘No, I guess not.’ Athos agreed quickly and then did a double take as he processed the words she had spoken. ‘Wait, what did you say?’

‘Oh, darling heart, you should see the look on your face.’ She cupped his face, her thumb still brushing his cheek, ‘you know what I said. You just don’t want to believe it.’

‘You are the wife of my dearest friend.’ He swallowed thickly, ‘I cannot even entertain these thoughts.’

‘Oh, Rubbish.’ She spat, standing up and stomping to the other side of the room. ‘Why are you men all so bad at this?’

‘Bad at what?’ Athos frowned as he watched her pacing, her temper well and truly ignited. ‘You’re making me dizzy, Constance.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Contrite and temper forgotten she sat on edge of the mattress again. ‘You truly don’t understand?’

‘No, I understand, perfectly well. I just don’t understand why you would entertain such folly.’

‘Do you remember back before d’Artagnan came along?’

‘Of course, I do, outside of the Musketeers you were my dearest friend.’

‘I’m sure you are lying about that. I remember you being the perfect gentleman, seeing that a young wife, new to Paris was left alone in her home by her indifferent travelling husband had no friends. You were the bright spot in my life then Athos. You would visit, help me with the shopping, all in the guise of looking out for the wife of a friend. When I later discovered you weren't friends at all. Introducing me to people and making me feel at home. Coming to share meals with me so I wasn’t alone all the time.’ She brushed her thumb across his knuckles as she spoke, her eyes misty with tears and memories. ‘I loved you then, but I thought it was the love of a sister and a brother.’

‘That was a long time ago, Constance.’ He sighed.

‘Yes, and then d’Artagnan happened. He burst in on our comfortable lives and blew it all to hell. I couldn’t imagine not loving him.’

‘I would think not.’ Athos was mortified at the thought.

‘But I’ve come to learn that what I felt for you is not that of a sibling, in fact it may even be equal to what I feel for my husband.’

‘You two really need to forget about me. I have far too many scars on my heart for you to deal with.’

‘You think that we don’t have scars as well?’ 

‘Its unseemly for me to be here taking your bed, even if we are all in love.’

‘Then the world at large is going to be scandalised when you move in here, aren’t they?’ Constance smiled at him.

‘I’ll do nothing of the sort.’ Athos backed away from Constance’s touch, one hand lifting to hold his still aching head after the sudden movement.


	16. Pinned Down

‘How long do you think it will take him to work it out?’ Aramis turned to watch his brothers face as they rode.

‘Who?’ Porthos tilted his head back to look at Aramis as he answered. ‘Athos? When his brain starts working again, he’ll put it together.’ 

‘And the whelp?’

‘I don’t know about him but from the cold shoulder that Constance has been giving Treville she’s already worked it out.’

‘Why aren’t you angry?’

Porthos shrugged. ‘Why are you?’

‘Athos could have died.’

‘Could have but he didn’t.’ Porthos reached over to grasp Aramis’ hand in his own. ‘We’re soldiers ‘mis. It’s what we do.’

‘I understand that, mon ami. Truly I do. I don’t have a problem with knowing that I’m a decoy, but to be sent blindly off with a life or death mission and not know that we were lambs to the slaughter? That was foolhardy on the Minister’s part.’

‘Would you be angry if Athos hadn’t been hurt?’

‘You saw him. If he had been even a little more cognisant, he would have gone on and be dead now.’

‘And again….he’s not.’ Porthos lifted Aramis’ hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to his gloved fingers.

Aramis pulled his hand back sharply, ignoring Porthos frown as he wheeled his horse around listening to something Porthos could not yet hear.

‘What?’ Porthos asked .

‘Riders….at least six.’ He glanced around him and guided his horse towards a stand of trees with a huge downed tree trunk in the middle that would be perfect cover for them. Porthos followed him without question.

Both men dismounted, took their muskets from their saddles and slapped their horses on their rumps. Both mounts were well trained and would go far enough to be out of range but still stay until their masters demanded their presence again. The horses had barely moved before musket balls started peppering the log in front of them.

‘We’re not carrying secrets, what the fuck is going on.’

‘I don’t know, but I think that it’s about time that we found out what’s going on.’ Aramis sat up to make a shot and before he could squeeze his trigger, a ball hit him and spun him around in mid-air dropping him heavily to the ground.

‘Aramis!’ Porthos yelled, unable to check on him without breaking his cover.

‘I’m okay.’ Aramis groaned moving back to flop down on his back beside Porthos, handing the bigger man his second pistol. 

‘Where are you hit?’ Porthos took a shot and almost pumped the air when he heard a cry of pain and the sound of a body hitting the ground.

‘Neck.’ Aramis responded, ‘Not bad. Wait until we aren’t pinned down and I’ll take care of it.’ He answered, handing a freshly loaded pistol up to Porthos. He grasped Porthos calf as he would have dropped down to check on his partner. ‘I’m okay, honestly.’

Porthos dropped down to sit beside Aramis, handing him back the pistol. ‘They’re clearing out. I’ll go check the bodies in a minute.’ He turned to look closely at Aramis.  
‘Show me your neck.’

He turned to straddle Aramis’ thighs, one hand on the side of his face, the other tenderly pushing his head to the side. He pulled his bandanna off his head and wiped the blood away. 

‘It just looks like a crease. I don’t think it needs it, but I can stitch it for you.’

‘Its fine.’ Aramis nuzzled his face into Porthos palm.

Porthos pulled a spare bandanna from his belt and wrapped it around Aramis’ neck, tying it loosely then ducking in to press a kiss over the wound. He took Aramis’ face in both of his large hands, his thumbs brushing over Aramis’ cheekbones and pressing their lips together.

‘Don’t do that again.’ He chided.


	17. Stay With Me'

D’Artagnan walked quietly into the bedroom, holding a hand up to his wife as she held up a hand silently shushing him. His eyes skimmed past her to linger on the shirtless form of his captain. The wounds on his chest were no longer an angry red, his shoulder whilst still a little swollen was almost back to its normal size and best of all he was no longer confused when he woke. The terrible blue and purple bruising on his face was finally fading and the swelling receding.

Constance had been spending her spare minutes with him, desperate to make him feel like he was part of them. Both of them were terrified that once he was well, he would make his escape back to his own bed in the captain’s office and their fight to make him believe he deserved them would start anew.

D’Artagnan sat on the seat next to Constance and pulled her under his arm pressing an affectionate peck to her forehead before he leaned back in the chair and stretched his legs out in front of him.

‘Love you.’ She murmured, reaching out to hold his hand.

‘You’ve trimmed his beard.’ D’Artagnan nodded his head toward their would-be lover.

‘Tomorrow we’re going to trim his hair.’ She whispered back. ‘He was tired, or I would have today.’

‘Don’t cut too much off, I can’t wait to run my fingers through it.’ 

‘What if he doesn’t want to join us?’ she breathed, ‘I want him to join with us so badly.’

‘I want to.’ Athos spoke softly.

‘How are you feeling, brother?’ D’Artagnan asked, he moved from his seat to sit on the side of the bed and leaned in to press a soft, chaste kiss against Athos’ lips.  
‘Better.’ He responded, he lifted a hand to touch d’Artagnan’s hair and pull him back for a quick peck.

‘You’ve thought about us then?’ Constance moved to sit on his other side, her hand clasping his tightly. She wasn’t quite sure exactly how she would fit between or around her two soldiers, but she was determined that she would.

‘I have had the time to think of little else, my beautiful lady.’ Athos lifted her hand to his mouth to kiss her knuckles. ‘It is a generous offer you have given me.’

‘You are not going to say no, captain.’ D’Artagnan moved a hand to play with an errant curl on Athos’ forehead.

‘Of Course, I am.’ 

‘No!’ Both men turned to look at Constance as she gasped.

‘My love?’ d’Artagnan reached his free hand across to take Constance’s.

‘He can’t.’ she turned to look at Athos. ‘You can’t.’

‘Don’t you see. I must.’ He shuffled himself higher in the bed so he could sit up against the pillows. ‘You are a young married couple. The impropriety of me being with you would be scandalous. I’m an old drunk. I’m too old for the two of you. I simply must decline.’

‘Do you want to?’ d’Artagnan asked. ‘If you had your druthers and none of that was an issue would you join us?’

‘It would not take a heartbeat for me to decide.’ Athos closed his eyes, the images of them together flooding his brain.

‘Then its settled.’ Constance nodded. ‘We’ll move your belonging down here tonight while the garrison sleeps.’

‘Constance it’s your reputation I’m thinking of.’ Athos kissed her hand again. ‘You are so important to me that I will never risk the shame it would cause you.’

‘And its my happiness I’m considering you wonderful ‘old’ man.’ She chuckled. ‘Stay with me?’

‘How am I able to refuse a request like that?’

‘It’s settled.’

‘Is she always like this?’ Athos turned back to the amused face of his ‘apprentice’.

‘You have no idea. At least now she might be outnumbered occasionally.’

‘Whatchit you.’ Constance pointed a finger at him.

‘Would you have a message taken to Treville? I need to see him. I need to get back to my office and start working again.’

‘No. You’re not going back to work until you’re healthy. I won’t have him sacrificing you while you’re ill.’

‘Constance!’ d’Artagnan scolded her sharply. ‘Treville loves Athos he wouldn’t do anything of the sort.’

Constance climbed off the bed, angrily moving away from the bed, Athos gestured to d’Artagnan to move and he swung his legs out of the bed, ignoring the fact that he was just in his braies, he walked unsteadily over to where Constance was busying herself folding clothes on the dresser in the corner of the room.

‘What vexes you my dear?’ he asked a hand on her shoulder.

‘This happened to you for nothing.’ She turned, her soft fingers tracing the healing wounds on his chest. ‘I almost lost you before I even had you.’

‘It didn’t happen for nothing my darling.’ Athos soothed her; he was vaguely aware of d’Artagnan moving closer behind them. ‘The real message got through without incident.’

‘Real message?’ d’Artagnan frowned, there was silence in the room for long seconds before the knowledge dawned on him. ‘We were a decoy?’

‘Yes.’ Athos answered, he couldn’t see the point of denying what they had just worked out on their own. Though he couldn’t help but smile at Constance’s keen mind picking it up before even he had.

‘You could have died being a DECOY!’ d’Artagnan’s voice rose as he spoke.

‘We’re soldiers, d’Artagnan. We follow our orders and do as commanded.’ Athos shrugged, his face tightening as the movement twinged the still present pain in his shoulder.

‘You knew?’ d’Artagnan sounds by turns pissed and disappointed.

‘No. But having a decoy for an important missive makes good military sense. I had no way of knowing if we were the distraction or the real message, or, indeed, if there was a decoy at all.’

‘Can I touch you?’ Constance asked quietly, her palm flat on the only piece of his chest that was grazed or cut.

Athos didn’t answer, he lacked the willpower to deny himself the comfort a simple hug from this remarkable young woman. He opened his arms to her, and she melted into him like water flowing over a rock.

Burying his face in her hair he breathed her in deeply and could not remember a better scent. Yes, she carried the scents of a hard and busy day, not helped by the fact that she insisted on being at his side whenever she could be. But, underlying that was the smell of sunshine and soap and a subtle hint of husband in her hair. He found he couldn’t help himself, he loved this young woman, no matter how ridiculous it was to him, she shared his heart with her husband. He found he didn’t mind. At all.


End file.
